Work Wife
by 20Waffles20
Summary: Emily is not a happy camper after a case. I wonder why? No Pairing. The whole team is involved. I guess I altered the universe slightly, in that Prentiss didn't go to London and Blake isn't around... Just a short oneshot.


**A/N: This just randomly popped into my head. So I figured, sleep is overrated anyway. Right? It might be a little out of character, but I posted it because I thought it was funny. **

**Disclaimer: ****I own nothing. Like, literally. Not just in regards to Criminal Minds.**

To say that she was being childlike would have been a drastic understatement. With all the years that Morgan had known the woman, and everything they'd been through together, he never thought that he would ever see her pout. However, the deep frown she was wearing did absolutely nothing to conceal her protruding lower lip. She was sat in the front seat of the Suburban with Hotch at the wheel, and Derek in the back seat. Both men were abundantly aware of the reason for the holdup as they sat parked on the runway next to the jet that would take them home momentarily, the other three members of their party patiently inhabiting an identical vehicle.

Emily had been livid when it happened, refusing to even acknowledge the pain as she sat on the warm asphalt. They had been in New York on a case for the past two weeks, tracking down an extremely elusive bank robber. Yesterday they had gotten a solid lead, the first in the time that they had been working it, and they had hurriedly tracked down Anthony Caplin. What they didn't know about their would-be UnSub was that he was an avid street-runner, probably how he had managed to continuously evade the N.Y.P.D. So naturally, when they busted in his door they had only caught a glimpse of him as he slipped through the window to the fire escape.

Prentiss had been the first one through after Morgan kicked the door in, so she was also the first one through the window. Caplin had been about to jump to the adjacent building's fire escape when she grabbed him by the belt. Unfortunately for her, he'd decided to take his chances and jump anyway. Before she knew what had happened, she was on her back and watching him climb over the railing successfully.

The guy probably didn't think that an F.B.I. agent would risk the jump, but the broken nose would serve as a pretty good reminder of a lesson learned. Morgan had made the leap with relative ease, blatantly ignoring the protests of his other teammates. That was a fact that she was infinitely grateful for. Because Morgan had caught the jerk, they could all go home.

The only problem now, she had a broken leg and a steep set of stairs stood between her and a plush leather seat. Emily Prentiss was a proud woman, admitting the need for any kind of help was tantamount to curling up in the fetal position and crying like a baby in the middle of a busy thoroughfare.

Hotch looked into the rearview mirror to make eye contact with his subordinate, and then gave a pointed look to the woman in the seat next to him. He wasn't about to openly suggest it, but it was the only way they'd be getting on the plane anytime soon. She was studiously ignoring the entire situation, staring at anything that would hold her attention for a few seconds. Hotch unfastened his seatbelt and looked over to her, "I'll grab your bag, Prentiss." She gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

Morgan watched their unit chief slide out of the driver's seat and move to stand at the rear of the car. It was clearly up to him to talk her into this. He had no idea where to start, so he was silently thankful when he heard her speak. "I'm pathetic."

He tilted his head to the side, clenching his jaw and raising an eyebrow in the process. "Emily, _you_ are far from pathetic." There was a beat of silence before he continued, "and I don't wanna hear any of that again." He managed to throw in all the sass that growing up with two older sisters and a single mom had instilled in him, smoothly swaying his head back and forth with the words.

"Are you kidding me?" Anyone else would have mistaken her tone for anger, but he knew it was just frustration of her own inadequacy. "There is no way I can walk up those damn steps, Morgan. I could _hobble_ up them, with my crutch… in an hour or two."

"Listen to me," he brought his hand up to her shoulder. "If Penelope were here, she'd be dying of jealousy at even the idea." He was trying to lighten the mood, and found himself grinning at the thought of his bubbly friend's reaction.

_That _was not an argument she had been expecting. Though, she had to admit, humor was a pretty good tactic for their current predicament. She applauded the effort with a small chuckle; she couldn't have really stopped it if she wanted to though. Imagining the look on the technical analyst's face was enough to send her into a pretty good laugh. She managed to collect herself, and then spoke. "Yeah, I guess you're probably right." He could hear the smile still in her voice.

Satisfied that she was on board with the unspoken plan, he exited the vehicle and moved up to her door. As he opened the door, she began to shake her head and refused to look in his direction. "Come on," he said, "put your arm around my neck." He was leaving her no room for negotiation. She reluctantly obliged, and held on a little tighter than she'd like to admit as he scooped her out of the seat. He made long strides to the base of the stairs, and quickly navigated them. He only stopped once he had her comfortably seated at one of the tables.

Still refusing to meet his eyes, she opted for the motion outside of her window. The rest of the team were finally getting out and heading toward the jet. They were determined to respect her privacy as much as possible, knowing that it was driving her crazy to be so utterly dependent. As they walked through the hatch she noted that, for the most part, they had managed to avoid glancing at her all together or they had schooled their features superbly. All of them had done this, of course with the exception of David Rossi. He had a smug smirk plastered on his face, obviously he had found great enjoyment in her petulant behavior. Stubborn to her very core, she merely arched a brow in challenge. He shook his head slightly and walked past her and Morgan, deciding it would be safer to sit in the back with the others.

As they came to a stop on the Quantico airstrip, Emily again shifted her gaze to the small window. Sure enough, walking toward them with an empty wheelchair, there was Penelope Garcia. She turned sharp eyes to Derek then. He leaned over to see what had bothered her, and wasn't all that surprised. The woman had been hysterical when he had called her from the hospital.

Emily peered over her shoulder to see heads turning away, and that damn smug smile. She used the table in front of her to stand, and then shuffled toward the isle. As Derek picked her up, she looked back to her friends. "You guys know we can leave now, right?" There was a burst of stifled laughter and a tiny snort, probably J.J., and then they began to stand as well. Rossi was leading the way. "You better let him go ahead of us," she nodded to the older man. "That way he can catch me if you drop me on my ass."

Dave halted next to them and put his free hand to his chest. "I'm flattered," he began almost sincerely, "you think that I could catch you." He flashed her a wicked grin and continued toward the exit.

She narrowed her eyes at his back and smoothly returned fire. "No, but you'd certainly make for a softer landing."

As Emily and Derek neared the bottom of the stairs, she rolled her eyes at Garcia. "I know that look," she said to him, "jealousy." She knew that he would appreciate the reference to his earlier gibe.

He winked and then turned his gaze to Garcia. "I'm sorry Baby Girl, but you're too late." His vocalization was wholly apologetic, and Penelope's expression instantly changed to one of confusion. "I carried Prentiss over the threshold of the jet. That's practically the B.A.U.'s home, so that makes _her_ my 'work wife'."

He smiled widely, completely tuning out his partner's unimpressed glare. "Don't worry P.G., I have a feeling I'm going to get tired of him _real_ quick."

Garcia got over her initial stun, and shot back. "That's okay, I'll just have to settle for being his 'work mistress'." Then she shot Derek a flirtatious wink of her own. "I'm not opposed to sharing my toys."


End file.
